PTWWW
by Meowzer
Summary: Simple little Aeryn POV post "The Way We Weren't" fic.


PTWWW  
by: Meowzer  
  
Feedback: Send it to meowzer@crosswinds.net, and I might write more... Or would that be a bad thing?  
  
Summary: Simple little Aeryn POV post "The Way We Weren't" fic.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Spoilers: The Way We Weren't, Durka Returns.  
  
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. Instead, they belong to the Jim Henson Company, the Sci-Fi Channel, and all those other nice people who might have a finger in the pie, all of whom are probably doing a much better job with them than I ever could.  
  
Archival: Just tell me where it is, please.  
  
Author's Notes: This is the result of the voices in my head, which refuse to shut up unless I write down the things they tell me to. I'd also like to take this time to thank my betas: Ellie and Cariel, you guys have been wonderful. Now, on to our feature presentation...  
  
*****  
  
"And you say, you think you love this man?"  
  
He would ask the one question she couldn't answer right now without breaking one of them. She didn't have the energy to think of a reply to let them both off the hook, and she could see he knew it, too. He was already kicking himself for pushing, so she just looked away.  
  
Frell, frell, frell, frell, frell, frell, frell. She looked up again to assess the damage, and he smiled at her. He was looking for a way to make it better, to make her think she hadn't hurt him. She smiled back to alleviate his guilt. It was easier that way.  
  
And then she realized that he was taking it as encouragement. He was reaching for her hand. She couldn't allow him to touch her right now. If he did, she'd actually answer his question and then there would be no stopping him. The chair skittered backwards as she stood up abruptly. "I have to go."  
  
He looked devastated, but she couldn't think about that right now. She'd been thinking all day, and her brain hurt from it. Hitting things always helped, so off she went through Moya's corridors. She was almost to the gym when she realized that her punching bag was still on the floor, and she didn't have the strength to lift it anymore. It would remind her, and she didn't want that.  
  
She stopped and leaned against the corridor wall. She could go to her room, but then she'd have to look at the empty bed. Pilot was still too raw from his own memories for her to take refuge in the Center Chambers. Everyone but Chiana and Crichton still harbored doubts about her remorse, and knowing the Nebari, she'd take this as an opportunity for a bit of thievery. The thought of food made her nauseous. Crichton would be on the Terrace if she knew him- frell, where could she go?  
  
At least Moya had forgiven her, or she just hadn't dispatched the DRD's to do her in yet. Probably waiting for her to go to sleep before sending them in with the gag and the sonic screwdriver. In the morning they'd find her electrocuted corpse. She had never given Moya enough credit; the Leviathan was a warrior in her own right.  
  
How couldn't she have known it was Moya she'd been on? She should have recognized Pilot's voice, or his DNA should have told her. What else didn't she remember? Had she tortured a Luxan on board this ship? If she'd been here once without knowing it, she could have been here again, and who was to say she hadn't conveniently forgotten a few other exploits? Maybe one with a Delvian, or a Hynerian... But she would have remembered them, they were her shipmates now, and that would have sparked something, or would it have buried it even further? If she could almost forget Velorek, she could certainly forget a routine torture session.  
  
It wasn't fair that she couldn't remember. It was too long ago; she wouldn't remember what she had for breakfast if it weren't the same thing every day. What you had for breakfast wasn't important, only that you had it, unless there was a battle going on, in which case you just hoped you could kill the enemy before dinner, so you could eat then. A Hynerian, she would have remembered a Hynerian, especially one as pompous as Rygel. He would have spent the entire time screaming about being a Dominar and they couldn't do this to him, but he'd survived Durka intact, he could have handled normal Peacekeepers, couldn't he? And she wouldn't have been called in unless he was going to be terminated, unless it had been early in her career, but he would have been in custody then, so she couldn't eliminate him or any of the others on that basis. Zhaan must have infuriated her keepers, probably chanted throughout the entire experience. She would remember that, but she'd always tried to forget the torture rounds, so she could just have blocked it...  
  
Why couldn't she remember?  
  
A Luxan, she knew she'd been present for at least one Luxan. Was it D'Argo? He'd have ranted terribly, and it was the sort of crime she'd remember, but maybe, just maybe, and now here he was floating into view above her, he'd found her-  
  
"Aeryn? Aeryn!"  
  
He was calling her name.  
  
This must be one of those bad dreams Crichton babbled about, any microt now she'd wake up, and go search the ship for any recordings and then no one would ever have to know-  
  
"Crichton!" he screamed over his shoulder.  
  
Oh great, now it was getting worse, it was one of *those* dreams. The last thing she wanted to see was D'Argo naked. Now Crichton on the other hand... She couldn't suppress the giggle.  
  
D'Argo ceased bellowing and snapped back around. So dream people could hear you, could they? Huh. Who'd've thought it? His head was slowly blocking out the rest of the world. A pair of arms came around her back and she was floating gently up up up and he appeared to be talking to someone and she wondered who and his face had blocked out the light and then there was the sudden certainty and his shocked look when she said: "I would have remembered torturing you."  
  
****  
  
The next thing she was conscious of was Zhaan's face hovering over her. Great, another person she didn't want to be naked with.   
  
"How are you feeling?" That didn't sound like a dream line. And Zhaan was fully clothed. She turned her head and her neck hurt where Pilot had bruised it. Oh dren, it wasn't a dream. Crichton was sitting on a bench next to D'Argo. Neither of them looked very happy.  
  
"Can you hear me?" This couldn't be good. She turned her head back and gingerly wiped the hair from her forehead.  
  
"What happened?" Direct route. Always good, at least it was if your voice didn't sound so faint.  
  
"D'Argo found you huddled in the corridor, and you passed out."  
  
"Ah." Frell. Just what she needed, a worried and angry bunch of shipmates.  
  
"As far as I can tell, you are merely exhausted. However, I'd like you to stay here tonight so I can make sure."  
  
No way. No frelling way. There was no frelling way she was staying here with a Delvian tenth level P'au she knew could kill people with little more than a nod or the wave of a hand.  
  
"I am going back to my quarters."  
  
"Aeryn," D'Argo began, moving to block the entrance.  
  
"I am not staying here." It would help if she weren't tottering as she approached him.  
  
"I could knock you over by blowing on you. You need to stay here so Zhaan can take care of you," D'Argo snarled.  
  
Crichton didn't move. So that was the way it was going to be, was it?  
  
"I am not a child!" she snapped. "I am going back to my quarters, where I can assure you, I will get the rest you," she did her best to throw a withering look over her shoulder at Zhaan, but only managed to throw herself off balance. D'Argo caught her arm and steadied her. "...seem to think I need," she finished, gasping slightly.  
  
"I think you should stay." Well, look who'd decided to join the conversation.  
  
He was coming towards her. "Crichton, I am not staying here. I want to go back to my own quarters."  
  
"Aeryn, you were out cold for four hours. There've been shorter James Cameron movies than that. I don't think you should risk being away from Zhaan if there really is something wrong with you."  
  
"Nothing is wrong with me." Was she screaming? She must be, from the step back he took. "I did not hit my head, I did not pierce anything, I am simply, as Zhaan here says, exhausted. I want to go back to my own quarters, and I want to sleep in my own bed." Frell, she was going to cry again in a microt. "I don't think that's too much to ask," she managed to choke out before her throat closed completely.  
  
The others exchanged looks before Crichton stepped forward again.  
  
"Fine. I'll take you." She was too tired to protest when he put his arm around her shoulders. "Hang in there, kiddo," he murmured as they passed through the door. She almost snapped at him for patronizing her, but it took all her remaining strength to stay upright.  
  
When they reached her door, he didn't let go of her. "I'm coming in," he said. She wasn't up to an argument.  
  
He released her after the door shut. She couldn't think of anything to say to him, and it abruptly struck her that she felt filthy. "I'm going to take a shower," she said, even though she wasn't quite sure why she felt the need to inform him of it.  
  
He nodded, and she fled into the bathroom. She stripped quickly and turned the water on full force. It wasn't until she got in that she realized the soap was on the floor and she couldn't seem to muster the energy to bend down and pick it up. Instead, she stood there until the water pressing against her skin began to hurt, and turned it off.  
  
She wrapped herself in a towel and gathered her clothing from the floor. He was sitting on her bed when she stalked out of the bathroom. Dumping the clothes on the table, she started to search through the drawers for something to wear to bed. She managed to pull on a pair of underwear and some loose pants without dislodging the towel, but she had to drop it for the bra and tank top. When she turned to put the towel back in the bathroom, she noticed he was looking at the wall behind her bed rather than her. He had only removed his vest and his shoes. She decided not to put the towel back, instead dropping it on the table with her clothing.  
  
"You can turn around now." He did, but he didn't relinquish the bed. "You've done your duty. You can go."  
  
He got up, and she felt a brief flair of triumph until she realized he wasn't heading for the door. He reached out and ran his thumb along her cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."  
  
She wasn't quite sure how it happened, but she found herself staring at the wall opposite her bed, with Crichton pressed behind her. He'd draped an arm over her stomach, and was gently nuzzling the back of her neck. When he exhaled, it tickled, and she spun to face him, only to find herself with one leg thrown over his, nestled even more firmly against his chest. Her face was pressed into his neck, and he was nuzzling her shoulder.  
  
"You're shaking," he commented, wrapping his arm a bit more securely around her back.  
  
"No I'm not." At least, not that she could feel, but she didn't exactly trust her muscles to hold steady when she was this tired.  
  
"Uh-huh," he replied incredulously, removing the support of his arm to begin gently running his fingers up and down her spine. "Relax."  
  
"I am relaxed." She closed her eyes to prove it to him. Big mistake. She didn't know what he was doing to her back, but she could feel it uncoiling, and he was warm and soft and smelled good, and she was so frelling tired she couldn't think straight anymore. She went completely limp, just for a couple microts, so he'd stop bothering her, and he brought his other arm up to hold her to him while he kept trailing his fingers up and down her back, so she scooted just a bit closer so he wouldn't have to support her anymore, and that was when she realized she didn't want that shirt there. She pulled him upright and managed to strip his shirt off before he could protest. When she hooked her fingers between his pants and underwear and pushed down, he got the hint, and by the time he'd gotten them off, she'd stripped everything but her underwear too.  
  
With their clothing in a pile on the floor, she dove back into him, took a deep breath, and fell asleep.  
  
****  
  
She awoke to find herself sprawled on top of him. Frell, frell, frell, frell, frell, frell, frell. She slithered out of bed, only to find her bladder protesting, and retreated to the bathroom. She should kick him out. If the others found out about this they'd never let her forget it. The hated Peacekeeper throws away her vows and mates with a lesser species, that's how they'd see it. She had to wake him up and make him leave.  
  
He'd rolled towards the wall when she emerged. She put her hand on his back to shake him awake, and he rolled over and looked up at her. He reached for her and she couldn't think of a reason to say no anymore, so she clambered back into bed and fell asleep with his hands kneading her back.  
  
****  
  
When she woke up the next time, she was facing the wall behind her bed, with Crichton's face buried in her shoulder.  
  
"Morning," he said running his hand along her upper arm. He sounded happy. Yotz.  
  
She sprung over him to get her clothes. "You have to get out of here before the others find out."  
  
"They already know."  
  
"What?" she shrieked. This could not be happening.  
  
"Given that we were due at lunch about two hours ago, I'd say they know."  
  
She sat down on the edge of the bed. "This is not happening. You are a terrible hallucination, and any microt now, I will snap out of it."  
  
He laughed. "Nope." He sat up and pulled her back down next to him, clothes and all. "Go back to sleep. I promise it'll be alright."  
  
She closed her eyes and waited until he fell asleep. Then she got up, got dressed, and snuck out.  
  
When she entered the dining room, Rygel started to say something, but she managed to silence him with a murderous look. In Command, everyone tried to hide their smiles, but she ignored them and continued to the gym, where she set about putting her punching bag back together.  
  
Crichton wandered in maybe half an arn later. She looked up from the bolts she was tightening to find him staring at her.  
  
"Need a hand?" he asked good-naturedly.  
  
"I do not need another appendage, thank you," she replied, deliberately misinterpreting his statement.  
  
"Oh." He sounded crestfallen. Good. "Then I guess I'll be leaving."  
  
She didn't respond. His footsteps stopped in the doorway, and she looked up. He was staring at her. He smiled tentatively, and she gave him a small but unexpectedly sincere smile back around the wrench she was holding in her teeth. His grin widened, and she heard him whistling as he walked down the corridor.  



End file.
